


The Twins

by msdaphne



Series: Without A Cause [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Breathplay, D/s, Multi, Porn with Feelings, Pretty Woman, Prostitution, S/M, Subspace, Watersports and Im not sorry, long characterizing asides and flashbacks, m/m/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8553754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdaphne/pseuds/msdaphne
Summary: After the failure of a vital mission, a certain pilot/soldier/spy is left existentially gutted. Convinced he has little left to offer the galaxy, he's run away from his responsibilities, not to mention his friends and his feelings. We find him living and working underground, on a remote commercial space station, under an assumed name.Takes place about midway into the twenty-month gap in  Without a Cause. The Twins originally showed up in Chapter 14 as a colorful, porny, character-reflecting aside. Then I kind of fell in love with the three of them together and couldn't stop writing about them.





	1. A Surprise Visit

* * *

 

Their sonic had always been glitchy, sputtering and cutting out sometimes. Lately, it had been sputtering a lot. And then, it did this. It was barely within the human audible range, but it was intense, and it brought Brea Bana to her knees, dropping the wand and clutching her hands to her ears. It was like being stabbed in the brain with an access pin.

She half-dressed and stormed to the tool cabinet.

"Sup babe, sonic again?"

She glared at her husband.

"That thing tried to kill me."

Coll frowned, "You wanna hand, then?"

She continued glaring.

"You too, Rory, c'mon."

[Why not. Perhaps there will be an epiphany this time.]

...

They'd looked at it before. It was frustrating; they were good mechanics, could keep their own hyperdrive running. But when it came to consumer shit like the sonic, everything was proprietary, just a tidy little maze of plastic boxes wrapped in warranty-voiding seals.

The diagram on the inside of the panel wasn't anything that could properly be called a schematic. More like a child's rendering of the crap they could see with their own eyes. And it wasn't like you could just pick up parts. There were a thousand manufacturers going in and out of business every year. Not like engines, where there were just a few big makers, or systems, where the parts were pretty standard, or even software, where there were also thousands of makers but they had to play nice or no one would use it.

Fucking consumer shit.

Rory laid out all the reasons not to lase open one of the boxes, but being [beholden to your command] ey complied. The box split open to reveal the inner circuits, sliced and fried by the surgery. Ey made a little coughing noise that sounded a lot like [told you so.]

They were booked solid with deliveries for the next three days, strict deadlines. Pretty busy for the next couple weeks, too. But there was a day in there, or most of one. She squeezed his hips.

"We should go somewhere and get it fixed."

"Somewhere," he echoed, nonchalantly.

 _"Somewhere,"_ she growled, shoving him against the bulkhead, grinding against his thigh.

 

==/==/==/==/==/==

 

It was dark and hot and fuzzy. His body was damp with sweat, but his mind was out beyond the galaxy, beyond the cluster, trying to wrap itself around infinitude. His whole being expanded from his stifling cocoon to the vast universe and contracted back again with each thin, hot, labored breath.

And then there was cool, sweet air in his face. Doe Eyes drank it in and focused back on the real world. He turned his head up over his shoulder, smiling.

"Already, stud?"

"N,no, sorry," the guy answered. "Um, your comm went off."

"Oh. S'aight. Thanks, tho." He dropped his head back.

"It's not like, your... boss? Or something?"

If it was her, she'd have his head for _answering his comm_ in the middle of a gig. But this guy didn't know that. This guy was nervous. This guy was not feeling great about himself right now. He turned his head again, smiling playfully.

"She can wait," he winked.

"Okay." The guy sounded uncertain, but the stupid smile on his face was fucking precious.

"Really, hon," Doe Eyes assured him, "rest of the galaxy can go to hell; this is our time." He dropped his head again and snuggled back against the guy, who was nowhere near hard again, so he reached back and pulled at the guy's hand, still holding the pillow. The guy complied, tenting the pillow carefully over his face so he had plenty of space to breathe. He pulled the guy's arm around his waist, and then flopped his own arm heavy over the pillow.

Interrupted, he had to ride through hot panic all over again before the fuzz set in and the universe began expanding again, pulling him back out of himself and into its incomprehensible dimensions.

....

After a second round, after he'd washed them both up, gushing over what a _good fuck_ the guy was, how he hoped to see him again, really, after they'd exchanged kisses on the cheek at the door, and the door was shut and locked; then he picked up his comm and sat on the edge of the bed to check his notes.

His eyebrows shot up on seeing an unexpected note from the Twins. It was less than two weeks since their last visit.

_Need repairs :(_

_To sonic :)_

_ETA 2 sh_

Every part of his face opened up. Pupils. Eyebrows. Nostrils. Smile. He was grinning just as stupidly as the trick he'd just been shining. He just sat there being happy for a few minutes, and then hopped up to chug a liter of water. Take his jewelery out. Shave. Shower. Cafeteria for carbs, salt, grab a couple nutrishakes for later. Hydrate.

 

==/==/==/==/==/==

 

He headed down to the bar in the butch work trousers and speeder jacket that the twins liked, and that, in his mind at least, signaled unavailability. He nursed a tall, weak drink, sitting with Ssu for cover, enduring her gentle teasing, til he spotted them. He nudged her.

"There they are. Thanks, girl."

She made a show of scanning his outfit again and lobbed her parting shot.

"Anytime, _dude._ "

He snorted and they exchanged air kisses goodbye. The twins were smiling, too, crossing the room. Light and cheerful, like they were all just buddies catching up over drinks. But there were butterflies in his stomach.

Coll threw his arm around his shoulder and pecked his temple, and good gods but he smelled _intoxicating_.

"Didn't expect to see this sorry ass back again so soon, didja?"

Doe Eyes smiled back fondly. There was nothing sorry about _that_ ass. Brea pulled him into a full hug, her hands up under his jacket, rubbing their noses together. He must have done something right, at some point in his life, to have earned the favor of whatever goddess kept burning their sonic out.

"Stars, angel, it's a good thing you're here, or someone at the bio systems shop on Five mighta had a date with my fist. But since you _are_ here," she purred, squeezing his ass, "Mmmmh."

He smiled and rubbed noses again. They ordered a round and launched into the latest chapter of their epic battle with the sonic. He winced as Brea told how she was lucky to have her hearing still intact. He nodded knowingly as they admitted that Rory had been right, of course. Which reminded her:

"Rory, actually, asked if ey could see a holo of you. Would that be alright?"

He knew Rory asked about him. The first time they'd mentioned it, that they talked to their droid about him, he'd misted up a little (and then later, alone in his room, cried harder than he had in months). A holo, though. Would be fine, he supposed, as long as no-one else ever saw it. But that was the kind of stipulation that needed explaining, so he just tilted his hand back and forth in a gesture of ambivalence.

"It's okay to say no. Or, we can talk about it later? If you want?"

He blushed down at his drink and shrugged.

"Later, then." Coll rubbed his back.

They bought another round and chatted at him some more until the drinks were gone. Brea stood.

"Gentlemen."

"Where?" joked Coll, looking around as if alarmed. Doe Eyes smiled and shook his head, and allowed him to take his hand, and they followed her to the lift to the luxe rooms on the next level.

At the lift bank, Brea leaned against the panel while her man pulled him into a corner. His heart fluttered; they often checked in with him first when they had _ideas_. Coll pulled him close and whispered in his ear, "You ok with this?"

"Probably?" he whispered back, "I don't know what _this_ is yet."

"You weren't expecting us."

"I sure wasn't," he grinned.

[What he'd been _expecting_ was another afternoon of steady drinking, punctuated by quick blowjobs and awkward fucks, half of which were with with people who, for a vast host of reasons, didn't seem to have much experience with human males, even the ones who were human and male themselves. If he got lucky, he'd have to thrash someone - albeit nowhere near as hard as he hoped he was about to get thrashed himself. Not that the former did much for him, but it paid well and at least it was kind of interesting.

At some point he'd start drinking in earnest, halfheartedly chatting up guests in the bar, not to collar anyone but because he was less likely to be cut off if it looked like he was with someone. Eventually he would get cut off, though, and he'd stumble to his room and smoke a pipe, staring at the ceiling and letting his mind wander anywhere but the past.

Often it wandered right to these two people, and he fell asleep dreaming of Brea Bana's belt on his skin, of her fist inside him. Dreaming of Coll Bana kneeling over him, rough fingers around his neck, strangling him. To death, in his dreams. To his death.

That was the day he'd been _expecting_ to have.]

 

"When I got your comm, I felt like a kid hearing that Life Day came early this year."

"I'm glad. And, glad you're free. But, don't feel like you have to stay all night, if you have, um, stuff to do."

_What?_

"Well I'll - I'll leave whenever you want me to, I guess." Even in a whisper, he could hear a little hurt in his voice.

"No no no, angel, no, never, of course not. What I mean is," and he could hear the other man consciously wrestling his voice from one of concern into one of benevolent authority, "if you don't feel like _playing_ tonight, I want you to tell me."

So _that's_ what he was getting at. Doe Eyes put his lips right to his man's ear and whispered, "What, you don't think I can take getting my ass kicked twice in two weeks?"

"Yeah. Yes, that's exactly what I'm asking."

 _Oh for fuck's sake_. They knew, he'd told them, how deadly dull and unsexy it was here. How he sometimes went to Master Zo over on Arm Six, when he could afford it. How Zo, while exquisitely talented, was not fun or companionable or cool, and certainly didn't have a smart, sassy droid that he hoped to meet someday.

"Listen, hon. If you ever make the mistake of introducing me to Rory, we are going to conspire to get you guys here every _week_. Seriously. I'm talking straight-up sabotage."

Coll chuckled, and relaxed a little.

"Sabotage, huh? I think ey'd rather stow you away. Safer that way."

 _Kriff, don't talk to me like that. I still have a fucking heart, you know._ He was imagining the soft, wistful tone in Coll's voice. He had to be. Had to. He wasn't imagining the way he was holding him close, forehead to forehead, rubbing noses...

"You smell so good, Coll. Need you to do me like I'm yours. Fucking break me. Please."

The man chuckled evilly and stole a kiss.

"Okay. Just checking. Thanks for checking in."

"Thank _you_ for checking in."

"We good?"

" _So_ good."

They kissed again, just a peck, and walked to the lifts hand in hand.

"You boys good?"

"Mm-hmm," they hummed in unison.

...

As soon as the lift doors were closed, Coll shifted his grip from Doe Eyes' hand to his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back, slamming him facefirst up against the wall, biting into his neck, slipping his other hand down his ass and between his legs, squeezing his balls. The ride was only a few seconds, and Coll was off him again just as quickly. When the door opened again he appeared casual, holding hands with his now glassy-eyed whore.

 


	2. Brea's Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if it's not obvious, they're not actually twins, or related at all outside of marriage. It's part of their mystique, meant to be disconcerting to the people they do business with. It can also be sexy, or sweet, and it probably fulfills some deep emotional voids.
> 
> Also, there's a reason they call him "angel," but I might not get to it for a while.

* * *

 

 

They were on him again directly through the door to the room, Coll shoving him against the wall, jerking his chin up to indicate _open your mouth._

"Up," he heard Brea say from near his left knee, while her husband licked deep into his mouth. He lifted his foot, obeying her directions as she removed his boots and socks and jacket and tunic, leaving him in trousers and undershirt. He was between them for a moment, both groping and biting him, and then Coll was nodding toward the fresher.

"Come," he said, and Doe Eyes followed. He waited to kneel, watching for confirmation, and yes, Coll nodded down at the floor beside the vac unit. He knelt and gazed up at his man hopefully, but Coll wasn't looking at him anymore, he was unfastening his trousers. If he'd been intoxicated before - heavy, masculine space-ripeness wafting around him when they hugged - the rank humidity in those shorts was fucking elevating; he needed it in his face. And Coll was pulling his cock out and pissing into the vac, and he needed that, too.

He opened his mouth, licking his lips, looked over at the stream and back up at his man's face, but he was ignoring him, stonefaced. He looked back and forth again, opened wider, stretching his neck like a baby bird. He was admonished with a sharp _sh-sh_ , meaning _close your mouth_. He obeyed, but continued begging with his eyes.

The stream slowed to a trickle and stopped. Coll finally looked at him.

"You want this, slut?"

He nodded. _Please._

Coll took the half step toward him, presenting his soft cock, a few drops still clinging around the slit. Doe Eyes licked them off, and brushed his upper lip across the slit. His eyes were rolling back behind his closed eyelids when his man clucked at him with his tongue, meaning _open your mouth_ , sending flames across his groin. He was rewarded with one last, thin spray, squeezed out across his tongue.

He trembled, already un-becoming, and they'd hardly even touched him yet. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, gazing up gratefully at his man. Coll gazed back, threatening and adoring in equal measure; he was perfect, just perfect, so good to him. He wiped his slit across Doe Eyes' lips again, murmuring a soft _good boy_ before tucking himself in and leaving without another word.

 

He remained kneeling for a respectable amount of time, waiting to see if Brea would take her turn. But the rustling of motion was settling down out there; only their soft voices remained, and he pictured them in their more-or-less default posture: her, sprawled naked on the bed; him, clothed in a chair just inches away, her braided leather belt in his lap.

He ran the hot water til it was scalding and soaked a few washcloths in it. Wrang them out and folded them. Delivered them to the nightstand, and knelt beside the bed, waiting for her acknowledgement. She rolled toward him, reached out her hand, traced his features with her fingers.

"So beautiful, my angel."

There were traces of engine grease on her hands, and of the alcohol she'd mostly removed it with. It was a smell so long-familiar that it went straight to his soul without being processed by his brain: s _afe mom war plane battle danger ground hangar safe_ all existed in a half a second. In the next half second, her hands, this hand, cajoling a fresh lube point gasket into the cylinder of a disarticulated strut, aft strut, main gang, YT-2000.

The brown-butter-salt of the last thing she'd eaten. The comforting warm/bitter of greasy hair, the sweetness of dandruff under her fingernails. Ale, where she'd stirred the foam down. And over it all, like a scrim: she'd fingered herself, a little, while he'd been kneeling in the fresher with her husband.

He wanted to chase her fingers with his mouth, but he was _good,_ and waited until she beckoned him up with her. He paused only to bow his head once before he set to bathing her, knowing exactly what she liked and where. He sucked at her fingers, but scrubbed her palm with a cloth. She liked the scratch of the cloth behind her ears, the scrape of his teeth in the hairline at the nape of her neck, his tongue delicate around her eyes. He smoothed her eyebrows with his thumb.

Scrubbing the sour spacegrime from under her arms was a revelation, like wiping a dirty viewport clean, the loveliness on the other side bursting forth to meet his senses. He used a fresh cloth gently on and under her breasts; tonguing her navel made her giggle. He pushed her thighs apart and slid between them, bending her knees up and apart, spreading her in front of him. Coll sighed and slouched in his chair, rubbing his cock through his trousers.

He dragged his lip up the hollow of her groin, buried his nose in her pubis, and let his mouth hang open, breathing her in, breathing him out, but he was good, he was good, he was good. He pulled himself up to his knees. Took a fresh cloth and scrubbed her thighs and groin, watching her face; she looked grateful and content.

He crouched down again, looking up at her, asking permission. She blinked lazily for _yes_. He nuzzled her mound again. He clenched his teeth, partly to keep from sucking in loose hairs, but mostly to keep his tongue trapped in its place. To help him be good.

She smelled so good, a filthy smuggler in all her glory; he just _wanted_ her, wanted to latch on to her clit and not let go, let them try and beat him off her. But that wasn't for him; that's what her husband was for. Not him, not her angel; he was a dirty, degenerate whore and his mouth was for other things. But sucking her pubes like this was, technically, bathing, and they were generous enough to allow it.

She began to roll her hips. He didn't look up, but wet his fingers as discreetly as he could, pressed one against her. This was allowed - his hands, his cock, even, he could _try_. Sometimes she said _no_ or, more often, _wait_ , but he wouldn't be punished for trying. Today she sighed _yesss._

He treated her like he treated himself: twisting two fingers in, spreading, stretch, close, twist, stretch, close, twist, stretch. She loved it, loved being stretched, murmured for more. When he took his thumb in his mouth she whispered _yes do it angel, yes,_ and when he slipped it into her and splayed his digits apart her head went back and she was almost still. He hoped that she felt how he remembered feeling, when he was younger and freer, like he wanted to be wide open for all the world, for anyone to just look into and see through, see everything inside him.

He pressed deeper, stretching with his knuckles and feeling with his fingertips for that swollen patch of tissue. Her hands were on her knees, pulling them wider, she was muttering encouragements, _yes, that's it, get it, fuck, angel, fuck, come on..._

He hooked and scratched with his fingers, but it wasn't enough, she was growing wild, ordering and begging in the same breath. It was no wonder she was so good at wrecking him; she was kind of a painslut herself. He kneeled up and pressed the heel of his left hand against her abdomen, and thrust with the right, trying to feel himself through her, and she screamed _ow, oh, oh._

He looked up to make sure it wasn't an _ow_ that meant _stop_ , but her head was thrown back and she was begging for _more- muh- more- ah- ow-_

Her hands flew back to her torso, pinching and squeezing herself, and without them her knees drifted shut again. He moved his left hand to her knee and pushed it away again, pushed it down to the bed.

"That's it, spread her, good boy. That's right."

Coll's voice was like a spell, so pleased, so satisfied, and yet so demanding. It went straight to both of their guts. A second ago, Doe Eyes had been completely immersed in Brea's pleasure, but that voice just burned him alive; he needed, he _needed._ He looked down at her legs spread wide, her hot wet cunt full of his hand, and he envied her - he wanted to be spread wide, he wanted a hot wet cunt, wanted someone's hand fucking him.

It hit Brea, too; she began thrusting against him, crying _give it, give it, ah, give it to me._ He did, shoved his hand hard into her, meeting her thrusts.

"Get it, sister, take it. Get it from your whore."

He had to push hard to stay with her; she arched so high, her pelvis reaching for the stars, and then she was just shaking, and it was all he could do to stay with her, never mind fucking, just keeping his hand there and not being thrown off. She knew it, she grabbed his wrist and held it in place and rode his hand.

Eventually she settled back onto the bed, his hand still in place, her thighs clenched around his forearm, him sprawled across her legs, his cheek resting on her mons, his other arm around her hip, her hands coming to rest in his hair.

She settled in fits and rests: her thighs would relax, and he'd pull his hand out a little, the motion setting off a new aftershock of orgasm and clenching, attenuating each time, until his right arm was free and cradling her, too.

They dozed there for a while, together. He was drooling a little, as one does when one dozes, right into her mons. He thought maybe he should stop, but she was scratching idly at his scalp, and he realized it was okay. It was possibly the most beatific moment of his entire existence. He was himself, his real self, and it was _okay_.

He'd been dead for almost a year. He couldn't have been that bad a person, if he'd ended up here.

 

* * *

 

 

 


	3. Brea's Bath, Part 2

* * *

 

 

Coll set down two glasses of water. He took the washcloths to rinse and returned them hot and folded. He ruffled Doe Eyes' hair.

"C'mon sweetheart, sit up for me."

Doe Eyes hauled himself up to his knees and took a couple of sips of water.

"What about you, sister? Too sleepy to finish your bath?"

" _Nooo_ , silly. Just a lil nap. That boy fucks me so good."

"Is that all?" He pinched one of her nipples gently, getting a little shiver out of her. "Cause I think you're sleepy," he teased. He pinched harder, "All done, bathtime's over, turn in early, sweet dreams."

"Mmmm, no."

He moved to the other nipple, pinching hard and tugging. She arched and moaned under him.

"What's that, you _do_ want to finish your bath?"

She growled hungrily, spreading her legs again, rocking her pelvis, yeah, she wanted.

"And what does my other sleepyhead say?"

Doe Eyes ducked his head and fluttered his eyelashes.

"That's right. Good boy."

Coll moved behind him, one knee up on the bed between his legs. He wrapped one arm around his waist and dug his fingers into his hair, pulling his head back, biting his jaw and neck.

"Do you think you're a good boy, angel?"

_Sometimes? Mostly?_

"So good right now, and so bad when my sister's ass is in your face."

The only reasonable answer to that was _Ye gods, have you seen her ass?_ But they'd had this discussion months ago, agreeing to disagree on where exactly the line fell between his bathing duties and straight-up analingus for the sake of pleasure. It was really his only transgression, and no amount of beating was going to make him stop.

He felt Coll's hands at his waist, now, loosening his trousers and tugging them down to expose his ass, squeezing his cheeks, murmuring _such a slut, such a dirty, dirty slut, aren't you, whore, so filthy._ It was making him hard.

Coll pressed a warm cloth into his hand and asked, "Should I even _bother_ sitting down?" The question made him feel just a little guilty, for like, a second. He could at least pretend to try to follow the rules he'd agreed to. He hung his head - but he also caught Brea's smirk, and smirked right back at her, and shook his head. _No, don't bother sitting down._

She pulled her legs back, and he just let himself stare for a moment. There was something about a human woman's ass that was just enthralling. It wasn't arousal, even. It was somewhere between aesthetic appreciation and envy. He just wanted to look and look and taste and be close, to be permitted there.

He knelt behind her, pulling her up into his lap a little. He scrubbed over the backs of her thighs, behind her knees, the small of her back, her asscheeks. Dipped into her crack just the slightest bit - and then brazenly tossed the cloth to the side.

_Crack!_

The first lash fell across his back.

He scootched back onto his stomach, propped on his elbows, holding her hips in his hands. He couldn't help but see that her pussy was still soaking; it'd been dripping down her ass, and still was a little. He asked himself, quite reasonably, what the point was in licking her clean if that was going to keep happening, so he made a Decision, and pressed his mouth firmly to her cunt and sucked for all he was worth.

_Crack! Crack!_

Across his ass this time; it hurt and he bucked up into her, jerking away from the pain. He had to pace himself - they'd still hardly even started - but goddamn she tasted good. He looked down at her, then up at her face. She was grinning, loving it. He slurped again - _Crack!_ \- and pulled away, flushed, breathing a little heavier, all thoughts of being _good_ having vacated for the moment.

He dove into her like some narrowly evolved symbiotid that could survive on nothing but the sweat in the crack of her ass. He licked and sucked and mouthed; every time his tongue passed over her asshole he dipped in a little. He hardly dared look at her, because it was embarassing, how much of her pleasure derived from watching him; not just watching but being amused by him.

It was positively _evil_ the way she looked between the two men in front of her. She would encourage Doe Eyes with a moan or a kick of her heel to keep going, to cross the line, press his tongue into her, and then rat him out with a nod to her man. Sometimes she telegraphed the lashes before they landed; sometimes not, to see him jump; sometimes she faked, to see him flinch.

When she was absolutely squeaky shiny clean, or maybe he just couldn't wait anymore, he sat up on his knees and pulled her up into his lap, her weight on her shoulders, her ass in his face. His heels felt like they were melting into his molten asscheeks. He panted down at her. She was evil, and he loved every second of it. He _deserved_ every second of it. And she deserved this: he pushed his tongue into her hole, twisting his way in, tugging and swirling and loosening.

All the while her belt, in Coll's hand, fell across his back, and it just didn't seem fair, how little it hurt, so he raised himself to kneeling upright, presenting his bare ass, holding her almost upside-down, now. He strained to reach as deep into her as he could possibly get, mouth stretched wide, nose pressed into her flesh; his tongue was going to hurt in the morning.

He didn't even notice when the whipping stopped, or feel Coll's weight behind him. He was being eased back onto his haunches, and Brea was slithering backwards, resting her crossed legs in his lap. He felt his arms being gathered and pinned behind him, an arm around his neck, pulling him back, a rough cheek against his smooth one.

"Slow down, sweetheart. Save some for your man."

The hoarse roughness of his voice was like a drug, arousing and soothing at once. He settled back against the man, noticing how his heels felt digging into his stinging asscheeks - numb and wet, as if they were passing through his skin. And that's what Coll was telling him to save; not his mouth or his energy, but his skin.

He leaned back in his arms, eyes closed, panting. He could still smell and taste her on his lips. Coll was nuzzling his cheek, and he could smell her, too; he kissed and licked gently at his angel's cheekbone and nose and lips. His lips were so light, and the arm around Doe Eyes' neck so powerful, it was fucking bliss.

As he slipped back into obedience, he wanted to apologize for being so hungry and selfish and undisciplined, for using his mouth the wrong way. But of course he couldn't; he just slumped in the man's arms feeling repentant, despite knowing goddamned well that less than twenty minutes hence he would be devouring Coll with equal abandon.

Soon she was waking him from his reverie, her heels nudging up against his cock. His head was pinned back, but he could just barely make eye contact with her, over his cheekbones and under his eyelashes. He knew it was a fetching look, too, and smouldered at her for all he was worth. _See how helpless I am. See what your man is doing to me._

"Not your turn yet, baby. Give him back; he'll be good."

Coll shifted, dropping his tight, contorting hold for an embrace.

"How do I know you'll be good," he murmured. Doe Eyes had been so pleased with himself when he figured out how to answer this kind of question. He dropped his head, all the way, chin to his chest, and shut his eyes tight so he wasn't tempted to look at them. He knew they were exchanging looks, deciding how much to tease him. Coll was pushing him forward, off his heels, one hand straying down, and he tensed, afraid he was going to squeeze his glowing buttcheeks.

Coll felt him tense and chuckled - _evil_ \- and gently slid his fingernails up his crack, just at the edge of the heat. It felt so good he had to stifle a moan. He kept it up, evil man that he was, until his boy was hard as a rock and absolutely writhing in his arms. And then she pressed with her feet again, hard against his balls, and a desperate, horny moan escaped, and _that's_ when Coll squeezed. Doe Eyes jerked away, gasping in pain. But Coll held him tight, and murmured in his ear, "Is that what you call good? Moaning like a slut?"

He shook his head.

"No, no it's not," Coll said gently. "Maybe you're tired. Why don't you finish Brea's bath, and I'll just take a shower?"

_Oh fuck no, don't even think about it._

He struggled to turn around, to look at Coll and glare at him, or beg him, or scream with his eyes _bullshit, you're not going anywhere_. But he was trapped tight in his strong arms. So he looked to Brea, and she was laughing at them.

"I don't think he likes that idea, baby."

Doe Eyes shook his head.

"What he _likes_ would be more relevant if he could be _good_. I mean, I'd _like_ a whore that would just keep quiet and do what he's told..."

He meant to elaborate, maybe even rant a little, but what he'd just said was so patently untrue, he couldn't go on and keep a straight face. He bit down on his angel's shoulder to stifle a little laugh. Brea laughed out loud, and Doe Eyes felt a spark of happiness glowing inside him. He scrunched his face up to keep from laughing out loud, his diaphragm quivering a little. Brea kicked him to get his attention, and when he looked at her she was just _shining_ at him, and he could feel himself shining, too.

"Go on, baby. You're so pretty when you laugh."

So he did, he let a few snuffs of laughter out his nose, and Coll kissed the spot he'd been biting and turned him around to face him.

"You got me, sweetheart. You know I love ya just the way you are. I wouldn't have it any other way."

He rubbed noses and gave Doe Eyes a little peck right across his wide, bright smile. He paused, and then tightened his grip again as he inhaled the juice and sweat drying on his boy's skin.

"Nnnnnh, _sister_ ," he groaned. He tilted his head, thighs tensing as he licked her musk off this gorgeous man's lips. He whispered, "Let me kiss you." Doe Eyes let his mouth go slack, parting his lips just so, not enough to be an invitation, just enough that it wasn't an invasion. He was good; he was passive while Coll kissed him slow and sweet, even as he let his fingers drift across the man's thighs and fly and scratch at his belt a little.

"Not yet, angel. S'not my turn yet. And I'm sorry, darling," to Brea, "to be so selfish and make you wait."

"Mmm, no, this is lovely, you boys can make out as long as you want."

But Coll reached over for a fresh cloth and pressed it into his hand.

"You want some help, beautiful?"

 _No_ , he thought sullenly. One time, _one time_ , he had humiliated himself, and not in a good way, and they insisted on being careful with him, now.

[He'd been licking her feet, delighting in tickling her and making her squirm and giggle. And then she'd kicked, involuntary, a reflex, and narrowly missed him, and the first thing she'd cried out was, "Oh, honey, I can't _afford_ to kick you in the face." It hurt worse than if she had.

It wasn't the apparent callousness that bothered him; he knew perfectly well that she gave an unwarranted number of fucks about him. And it wasn't that he ever forgot what he was - kriff, they called him _dirty whore_ more often than his own name - but sometimes he managed to forget that that's what he was _to them_. He was _a_ whore, but he didn't want to be _their_ whore; he just wanted to be _theirs._

And that was the godsdamned stupidest thing he'd ever thought in his life; he had to shut that bullshit right the fuck down. That was _not_ what he was here for. He stuffed it down, but couldn't hide the bleakness on his face, or the carelessness of his motions. And because they did give a fuck, they noticed and called timeout and wanted to know what was wrong and how he was feeling; he, however, would rather stick a blaster in his mouth than share _those_ feelings out loud.]

 

He chastised himself, _it's good that they care; if it makes him feel good, let him help._

He nodded his head and smiled gamely at Brea, while her man tucked her calf firmly against his ribs, gripping her ankle. He scrubbed her feet efficiently and a little roughly. She murmured sweet blandishments about how good he was, while Coll was encouraging, something along the lines of _atta boy_. It didn't help, but he knew he meant well. And Doe Eyes, after everything, _everything_ , still had an ounce of pride left, apparently, because he insisted on sucking at least a couple of her toes, and _smiling_ about it, dammit.

And when he was done, Coll was right there, murmuring _good boy, now c'mere, slut,_  dragging him up the bed, pushing him down, clucking his tongue and pressing a thumb into his mouth to suck.

 

 

* * *

 

 


	4. If that's the way it must be... okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More backstory than I intended, but I needed to establish some things because I'm gonna be leaving these three alone for a few weeks.

* * *

 

 

If ever she understood something like the way her men felt about her ass, it was in moments like this, watching them together. An almost painful mix of envy and affection, alienation and appreciation for beauty. They were something else; they had something else, breathtakingly sexy and enigmatic.

Coll was dragging Doe Eyes up the bed by his throat; he might have looked like a predator, but the other man responded more like a kitten in its mothers maw than prey being dragged to a lair. They moved so gracefully together as to leave the sheets barely wrinkled.

Coll crouched over him, fully clothed. His heavy boots, the ones with thin blades hidden in the shanks, trapped the other man's thighs, while his thick banthahide jacket hung open around the two of them, hiding a private space between them.

A space where rank spacedirt mingled with delicate, flowery oils. A space where the line between begging and demanding disintegrated. A space where the masculine and the feminine in each twined together and blossomed like some animate, self-pollinating, flesh-eating vine.

 

The first thing people noticed about Doe Eyes was, of course, his eyes: wide, pretty, welcoming; his eyelashes making him appear more shy than he really was. And then his mouth, shapely and expressive. Hair that practically reached out and wrapped itself in your fist. His strong jaw and straight, solid shoulders. What few people saw was an innate anger, a fighting instinct that was merely dulled, never really washed away.

Belle's was well-run, clean, sprinkled with laconic Mandalorian security. But it was, still, a spaceport cantina; it attracted the likes of _them_ , after all. People said things. Rude, ignorant, sometimes ugly things. If she was watching, she could see his eyes narrow, his eyebrows harden; the way his jaw clenched biting back a response, the way anger rippled through his limbs, the way he pressed his open palms hard against the edge of the bar.

She was certain he'd done a fair amount of fighting in his life; she'd taken him for a soldier at first, before figuring out he'd been a pilot of some kind, maybe a smuggler who'd had the brains to get out before someone took him out. But he hid it. He hid it under gauzy, ruffly, low-cut blouses and delicate jewelry, under cool postures that made his lavish greetings that much more rewarding. And of course, he also hid it under booze and spice. _Of course_ she wondered where he came from. What he'd done, to have chosen this as his place of exile. 

And Coll: people were afraid of him. Which was generally a good thing. The first things they saw were his massive shoulders, his heavy thighs. The sharp features that he softened with habitual stubble, though it did nothing to hide the messy pink scar under his lip, where the union of some person's armor and his own teeth had perforated the flesh.

What they didn't see was the precision in his sensitive fingers. Every bit as adept inside of her as they were inside of an astronics box or a delicate atmo sensor.

The last things anyone saw coming were his empathy and intuition. He could see what people inclined toward, and what they were suspicious of, and what they were afraid to say out loud. He could calm and reassure people after their fears were made evident, even when he himself had been the one to do so. Empathy made him a good negotiator. It also made him _really_ good in bed.

 

[When he'd first picked Doe Eyes up, it had been as a present for Brea. She'd just brokered a deal through absolutely bruising negotiations; she'd been subject to insults and threats and had come away a little richer, but angry and shaken.

His plan had been to spoil her for a night, with some of the sweet cash she'd just earned. After some fancy drinks, he'd take her up to a nice room and worship her long enough to wash some of the insult away, and then fuck her silly, fuck away all the residual anxiety and adrenaline. He'd gotten up to refill their drinks, and returned with this stunning creature.

The two men had spoiled the hell out of her, elevated her so far beyond the petty assholes she'd dealt with earlier, she couldn't remember their stupid faces if she tried.

She woke sometime in the night between two hard cocks, which was lovely, and she wanted to see them together, this pretty boy with her strapping man. As if she'd spoken it aloud, Doe Eyes had stirred and blinked and leaned in to whisper a request for permission to go down on her man.

"Don't ask me, honey; ask him," she'd whispered back.

"His exact words were, _I'm yours tonight, sister, anything you want from me, take it, please_."

That was, in fact, verbatim.

She'd sat back against the headboard and watched him curl up against her husband, nuzzling him gently into semi-wakefulness, kissing his way down to Coll's bush, burying his face in it for the longest time until Coll finally began to murmur and pet lazily at his head.]

...

 

It was easy to look at them now and see a natural dom taking his panting sub like an animal. But Doe Eyes had led them to this point every step of the way, indoctrinating them like some kind of priest.

Coll had been the hesitant one. He was, certainly, somewhat _alpha_ by nature, but he prided himself on being polite, even deferential, to sex workers. More polite than he was to most people. He knew where he came from, and that it was the random matter of which sperm got there first that had made him a courier instead of possibly, probably, a prostitute himself.

 _I like to stay out of politics_ , he'd said a thousand times. But the fact that they once again lived in a galaxy where - in some sectors - that one sperm even mattered enraged him in a way he would never really be able to articulate.

He would never have dreamed of seeking out someone like Doe Eyes. He had good reason to think he wouldn't like this kind of relationship. And he knew full well how fucking awful people could be. Anyone who walked into cantina and asked for  _someone who likes it rough_ was, at best, a very generous best, fooling themselves. There was no such thing as liking or not liking if enough money was involved. 

He'd responded, a couple of times, when it was right under his nose, too close to ignore.  _I can get pretty rough_ , he'd said, looming over the other guy, hand out, fingers twitching for the money _._  Anyone who would basically ask how much it cost to abuse someone deserved a punch in the face and a boot in the ass, in his opinion.

But. That's not how _this_ had happened. Doe Eyes had been so solemn in asking for their trust. So sincere in being grateful for that trust. And it was clear who was in charge, most of the time. Coll had followed, out of something like deference at first, until he was ready to admit that there were  _parts of it_   that he liked.

...

 

So now he was crouched over Doe Eyes, shoving and snarling, their complementary strains of aggression and submission crackling around one another.

The other man had sucked his hands clean, wincing when he shoved his fingers into his mouth especially roughly, rearing and biting when he tried to pull them away. Nibbling at his greasy fingernails: Coll had said  _no, no, that's engine grease, it's bad for you, don't do that_ , and Doe Eyes had glared up at him, thinking  _I'm not gonna live long enough for it to matter._

He'd licked and scraped and sucked his way down his man's palm, to the stiff leather cuff on his wrist. He stalled there, teething and sucking, nowhere to go until Coll decided to disrobe, but Coll was impassive as the beast whose hide he wore. After an interminable standoff, he finally drew his lips together, right where rough palm met tender wrist, and pulled them off with the faintest little pop.

She watched his eyeballs roll back up to Coll's, challenging, daring him to slap him. Was it a kiss or wasn't it? Coll pushed his thumb back into his mouth and hooked him by the cheek, pulling his face down towards Brea. He added a finger, and spread Doe Eyes' jaws open.

They were face to face; he looked frightened and embarrassed.

"Was he good?"

"No," she admitted. She pinched her eyebrows at him: _you literally asked for this_.

His eyes fell shut as Coll turned his face back up.

"That's what I thought," he growled, caressing his cheek. Doe Eyes writhed under him, painfully hard at the prospect of being slapped by his man, who was _so goddamn good at it, seriously, if he ever got tired of running for his life, he could make good money doing this_.

The fear in his eyes wasn't fear of pain; it was fear of losing control prematurely. He was afraid he would end up moaning or begging or maybe even coming before Coll had even gotten his clothes off. Which was exactly what the other man wanted: he lowered himself, grazing his heavy erection against ribs, belly, fly, and back again.

"That's what you want, isn't it, slut?"

Doe Eyes nodded and tried so hard not to whimper.

"That's for _good_ whores."

Coll rutted a few times and pulled away again. He reached down - _oh, no, please, no_ \- and stroked lightly at the front of his trousers. His trapped cock already felt like a hand grenade in a hot fire; this was going to kill him.

He arched up, and Brea was struck again with what a glorious creature he was, his sinuous posture so feminine, but yet it was his cock that was clearly leading the charge, straining toward the man above him. She listened to him gasp as he tried not to moan. She wanted to root for him, for his sake, but _gods_ he moaned so beautifully.

" _Sshhhh_ ," Coll admonished, lining his palm up against the other's cheek. He leaned down and whispered, " _You know you really are perfect, just the way you are,_ " and made eye contact, to be sure he'd been heard and understood. And then slapped him hard.

_Ah. Ah. Fuck yes, oh fuck yes._

He was so good at it. Doe Eyes had never felt a hint of threat to his teeth or bones from this man's hand, just sharp, white heat across the surface of his face. Tuned perfectly to his nerves, it went straight to his already desperate cock.

Six times, Coll slapped him, hard, and he was definitely starting to feel a little fuzzy. His eyeballs were trying to roll back, his eyelids heavy.

_Naw, shit. Not yet. Not yet._

Coll tugged at his chin with his thumb, and he obediently opened his mouth. Coll clucked: wider. Then he reached down again and stroked him through the cloth of his trousers.

_Please no, don't make me. Don't make me come yet, please._

Coll licked around his open mouth, his incisors, kissed his face and whispered _this is what I want, whore_ before pulling away and pinning Doe Eyes with a cold stare. He drew his lips together -

_No, please, don't make me..._

Coll spat hard at the back of his throat, and he lost it, lost the battle, came with every joint in his body shaking, his hips pounding into empty air. His hands flew to his cock, _so good_ through the fabric, and then noise was coming out of him, a long, rough moan that wavered with the convulsions wracking his torso.

It was beautiful, Brea thought, she could live inside that sound for hours, live with it until she understood it. And Coll, bless him, didn't cut him off.

He wanted to apologize, or roll and hide his face in shame, but they were on each side of him, murmuring _good boy_ and _so beautiful_. He covered his face with one hand. Coll drew his attention away from his sticky pants with a heavy palm on his abdomen, pressing just under his sternum, just a hint of a threat, just enough to distract him from his shame. He scratched tight little circles and lines up his angel's ribcage, as though he could see his scars through the undershirt. Or as if he'd memorized them.

Coll was tracing his throat with his fingernails, and _that_ felt good. When he rested his palm across it, it felt even better.

"Think you can stay with us for just a little longer?"

_Anything._

"Out loud, please."

"Yess. I'm sorry. Yes."

"Good boy."

He wrapped his hand a little tighter. He paused for Doe Eyes' breathing to even out again. He clucked again, reminding him again to keep his mouth wide open.

"Is your jaw getting sore?"

"Ng-ng," Doe Eyes shook his head. This was not true.

Coll looked at his wife across the body between them. His demeanor was so tender and affectionate, in contrast to the apparent threat he posed. _Go on_ , he nodded.

She straddled him, still naked. His eyes were flitting between her and the ceiling above him. She licked her fingers and traced around his lips. She pushed in and traced his teeth. He had the prettiest teeth - just like every other part of him, really. Fucking gorgeous. She took her time tracing them, and then pressed further, across his tongue past the rough tastebuds to the smooth, wet muscle behind. She avoided the back of his throat - she didn't want him to really gag, not too much - but otherwise went where she wanted, feeling all the strange, slick structures in his throat, glands and muscle and cartilage. She moved so that she was kneeling behind his head.

He stretched back for her, straightening his throat, and tried to take the invasion gracefully. But he gagged a little, and started to pant a few times, until she told him to _sshhhh_ and breathed with him,  _through your nose, nice and slow, good boy._

When they reached a little lull, she kissed him, and spoke softly to him,

"I want you to be good for your man, too, angel. I know you can do it. Just keep breathing."

Coll slowly tightened the grip around his throat. They strove, gently, to feel one another, through him, in an echo of the way he'd tried to make _his_ hands meet through her abdomen, earlier. This flesh, by contrast, was hard and tough, but so, so vulnerable. It quivered as he tried not to gag.

It wasn't just flesh, between them; it was his breath, his very life. He'd given her a little _frisson_ of pain that got her off; they gave him terror.

They watched him, balanced on the knife's edge: panic on one side, submission on the other.

They watched him struggle to make sure he fell on the right side, and they helped him. She breathed with him, he murmured praises and encouragement. Slowly the breath in his nose became soft and regular. Only thin cracks of light glimmered between his eyelids.

_So good, their beautiful angel, so brave, they were so proud of him, such a good boy._

They hardly dared look at one another over the life they held between them.

Coll released his grip from his blissed-out quarry's throat, but kept his fingers over his pulse for a while. Brea extracted herself painstakingly slowly, trailing thick saliva.

Doe Eyes gave a sharp little gasp, like someone waking up, and then returned to shallow but steady breathing. His mouth fell slack, the tips of his teeth just showing between his lips, rhyming with the thin slivers of white that still showed between his eyelids. Whatever he was waking to, it wasn't in this room. It was somewhere they had never been. He reminded Brea of some ancient oracle in an ecstatic trance.

They lay beside him for a while, kissing his shoulders and watching him breathe. He would usually be out cold for at least ten minutes. Well, not _cold_. He actually got hot, like this, almost feverish. It had been alarming, the first couple of times.

After a few minutes Coll got up. He removed his heavy jacket and heavier boots, and knelt at the bed beside her.

"That was fast," she smiled.

"He needed it."

She glanced down at his crotch.

"What about you, babe? What do you need?"

Coll made a show of sniffing his armpits and making a gross-out face.

"You don' want this, babe. Imma take a shower."

"He'll be disappointed."

Coll shook his head.

"He was a lot more tired than he was letting on. This is good. Don' worry, I'll make it up to him," he concluded with a wink. They kissed for a moment, before she shooed him into the shower.

Brea pulled Doe Eyes' noodle-limp arms up over his head and pulled his undershirt off. She kissed the lacy white scars decorating his ribs. She tugged his trousers off and folded them, and spoke to him reassuringly as she pulled off his sticky underpants. She took one of the now-cold washcloths and was tempted to cool his brow with it. She wiped up the cum, folded the towel and scrubbed gently over his soft cock and balls. His only response to the cold was another sharp intake of breath.

She curled up next to him, pulling a sheet over them both. A few minutes later she felt his hand start twitching, and and soft, barely audible whimpers begin to rise from his chest.

...

 

Coll came out of the shower and met her gaze. He showed off his blissfully clean body for her, toweling himself thoroughly. He pulled a tube of lube out of his satchel and tossed it onto the bed. He climbed up and knelt over the two of them, straddling their two legs that were twined together. He traced their figures through the sheet. One of her hands scratched idly at her bush. He pressed a little lower; she sighed.

"How's she feeling?"

"Sore."

"Good sore or bad sore?"

She smiled, "Like, wet, puffy, tight, sore."

He grinned back, "You calling first dibs?"

"Nope, just telling you what he did to me."

"Seriously, if you want dibs, say something now."

"Seriously, if we try to fuck right next to him, I think he might literally incinerate."

He smiled and tapped her gently a couple times through the sheet. He traced her other arm down to her hand curled similarly in their angel's bush, her nails dragging gently back and forth against his skin. One of his arms was trapped between them; the other also rested in his crotch, clutched loosely around his balls.

Coll reclined on Doe Eyes' other side, propping himself up on one elbow. He dragged his hand across the other man's chest and stomach, down to her hand and to the half-hard cock lying next to it. When he caressed it through the sheet, Doe Eyes made an appreciative little noise.

 _Now this is a party_ , he thought: all three of their hands, tenderly sharing the little space around Angel's junk.

[ _This is a party_ was a thought he had in his head, in his native vocabulary. If he'd said it out loud, it would have come out differently, with a bit more poetry.

He'd grown up knowing how to tell people what they wanted to hear. But he'd always thought that being _honest_ meant using his own words. It was Brea who had taught him that speaking to people in their own terms wasn't just a way to manipulate them. Sometimes, it was a way to be honest; especially if your own terms were prone to being disastrously misinterpreted in your rawest of moments.

What he described to himself as _a party_ was what Brea thought of as _an oracular visitation_.

Despite his crude interior voice, what he felt was every bit as mystical, like Angel was in a place that he wanted to be and didn't know how to get to. His responses seemed like unrelayed transmissions across interstellar space, barely discernible and reaching his ears eons after they'd first been sent... he wasn't going to get there tonight, but someday. _Someday_ , he would get there.]

It was nice, he thought. The only thing that could make it any better was if it could happen more often. And on their ship.

But that was just dumb. Doe Eyes had already chosen drinking over flying. According to droid gossip, the once or twice a month that the twins were in port was the soberest he ever got. Coll tried to appreciate that for what it was, for now.

His caresses soon earned him a proper erection, and slightly louder murmurs from the man beside him.

"What do you want, angel?"

The first hisses of response came as across light-minutes of space, or across analog comms in dense atmosphere.

"Speak up, sweetheart, or I won't know what you want."

The thing was, angel didn't want to. Really, really, would be perfectly happy if they just gagged him. But they _liked_ the noises he made. Liked talking to him, too, when he would. If they could ever get him off the station, maybe things would be different. For now, he murmured back, with some effort to be coherent, because Coll was demanding it.

"Fk pz."

"Say that again?"

"Fuk. Plz."

"You wanna fuck me," Coll teased. Doe Eyes was with it enough to realize he was being teased, or maybe was just confused by this suggestion, because he fell silent again, a hint of a frown crossing his forehead.

"Baby, I'm teasing. Of course I'm gonna fuck you."

It was maybe half a minute before this penetrated, and his brow smoothed again.

"I just like hearing you say it. Little eccentricity of mine."

He raised an eyebrow at Brea; she rolled her eyes a little. She also tugged at Doe Eyes' knee, parting his legs a little more. He liked _that_ , finding the energy to pull his knees apart by a couple more inches. And he responded from across the great beyond:

"Eeessco" _Please, Coll._

"That's good, thank you. Thank you, sweetheart."

"M'mbe gud"

"So good. So good, our beautiful angel."

He pulled the sheet away and crouched over Doe Eyes again, tender this time, with none of the roughness of earlier. He kissed his face.

"You're so hot."

"Ssnice"

"Can you move your legs for me?"

His knees twitched.

"Brea's gonna help you, ok?"

"Mmm."

 

They pushed his limp knees back to his chest, trapping the hand on his balls. Brea straddled his thighs, pinning him down, and open. She watched his eyelids flicker and fall closed again.

"Angel, listen to me. Do you want your man to fuck you now? You want Coll to fuck you?"

"yss plz."

Coll picked up the lube and asked, "Warm or cold?"

After no response, Brea repeated the question. _Mwrm plz_ was the answer, and it seemed she was the oracle now. He held a blob in one hand while the fingers of the other admired the ass in front of him. He picked up Doe Eyes' trapped hand and tested his fingertips for circulation - he knew it would be fine, it was just an idle thing to do while the lube warmed.

 

"I want this," he told the back of his sister's head, and she relayed the message. He twisted and stretched and the glimpses of flesh between his fingers made him want to see and breathe inside.

"I want to fuck him. Please."

The message that came back was like, _ys, ss, ss, ps, pl, pls, ys_

He pressed up and slipped in so easy, into a fucking furnace.

_gods he was so fucking hot, like his cock was being steamed alive, nothing would be left but boiled sausage; the last time he ever gave it to them, would be for their fucking dinner..._

At least he managed not to say _that_ out loud. Brea was between them, praising them both, so they didn't have to speak. Because Doe Eyes had fallen silent again, every muscle in his body limp as a rag, his mouth hanging open, rapt in the sensation of being pushed and pulled, his neck and spine bending and straightening with every thrust, his hair scrubbing against the mattress.

And Coll didn't dare utter the words on his tongue:

_please, just come away with us for a few days; if you don't like it, nothing has to change, I promise; but if you do, though, if you like it, angel..._

Every stroke brought up a moment of fantasy:

Angel, at the yoke of the _Den_.

Angel, flirting with a contact.

Angel, sneering behind a customs agent's back.

Angel, throwing down an indecipherable manual in frustration.

Angel, giggling with Rory.

Angel, plotting a run, superstitious.

Angel, debriefing, smug.

Angel, talking.

Angel, happy.

 

He came with his arms around his sister and his face in her hair. She slipped off when his weight started to collapse on her, letting Doe Eyes' knees fall around his waist, letting him fall, chin on his angel's shoulder, his eyes level with his throat, scanning, even now, checking that he hadn't left any marks.

 _So good_ , he whispered.

 _M'mbe gud_ , he felt murmured against his forehead.

 

==/==/==/==/==/==

 

They all fucked again in the morning, every bit as vanilla as the nutrishakes they slugged for breakfast. As they started to pull their clothes on, Brea remembered: holos for Rory?

Doe Eyes made a joke about dick pics probably being the most relevant info he could offer, before stumbling into an airy demurral, something about how his face shouldn't get out because he already had more business than he could handle, and now that he thought about it, it was probably against the house rules, and so on, _la la la_.

Brea finally stopped biting her tongue and stated the obvious.

"Well, then. You should just come meet em in person."

 


End file.
